


Persuasion

by DeandraAlleyan



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, How They Met, tip of the hat to Jane Austen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeandraAlleyan/pseuds/DeandraAlleyan
Summary: When first they met, love flowered, but she rejected his offer of marriage.  Now they come face to face once more, and everything has changed.  Complete in 4 chapters.
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Happened to watch part of a Masterpiece Theatre showing of “Persuasion” (not the really good one with Amanda Root/Ciaran Hinds), and chanced to ponder the possibility of adapting the basic storyline to Middle Earth and, who else, Eomer and Lothiriel. So, sorry Smor, but here’s yet another tale of their meeting…_ **
> 
> **_The details of this story essentially follow Tolkien’s tale, though they add numerous events that are not mentioned and probably didn’t happen (I don’t know for certain if anything directly contradicts Tolkien, but I tried to make it conform with known canon as much as possible)._ **

**(May, 3016 III, Minas Tirith)**

“Lothiriel? Come here, child,” Ivriniel instructed, in that tone that left no room for argument. Since the death of the girl’s mother, Ivriniel had seen it as her responsibility to take on the task of seeing her niece properly reared. Certainly the girl’s father and brothers could not be expected to do an adequate job of it, and Ivriniel had no intention of leaving the matter to chance. The family’s good name and reputation were at stake.

The girl’s eyes sparkled and her face was flushed, while a brilliant smile lit her face. Ivriniel’s eyes narrowed; she could guess the source of this radiant countenance. Young girls were so impressionable, and easily taken in by handsome men. “Where have you been?” she interrogated.

Lothiriel was too filled with happiness to conceal anything, though it felt awkward to share such wonderful happenings with her aunt. “I…I have been with Lord Eomer. We were walking in the garden. But I assure you we were properly attended, Aunt.” Lothiriel hastened to add that last bit, knowing how important such things were to her stern relative.

“He is _not_ a Lord, Lothiriel! He is merely a soldier. Granted he is the king’s nephew, but of little consequence beyond that,” Ivriniel announced reprovingly. Rohan’s king had sent his son and his nephew, just over a sennight ago, as emissaries to Gondor; if Lothiriel must swoon over one of them, let it at least be the prince. He was rather old for Lothiriel, true, but the most suitable for a match with Imrahil’s daughter. Unfortunately, Rohan’s heir to the throne was much occupied in discussions with Denethor, leaving his cousin free to impose himself upon the unwary young girl. 

Lothiriel’s enthusiasm faltered at this attack, but then she ventured, “Still, he is most agreeable, and his connection to the king –”

Ivriniel cut her off, seeing where this might be leading. “Do not be a silly child, my dear! The man is most inappropriate for you. Men such as that merely toy with young girls. They make insincere promises in order to take liberties, and then they disappear long before the consequences are felt!” She eyed her niece dispassionately, making Lothiriel uneasy under her gaze. “He has done so, has he not?” she inquired perceptively, and Lothiriel ducked her head to avoid the woman’s piercing look.

“He…he wishes to marry me –”

“Marry! That is outrageous! How dare he suggest such a thing, or even presume it! He is nothing but a soldier, Lothiriel, and will never amount to anything of consequence. You are the daughter of a prince, and you have obligations to your family and to Gondor. You could never marry so beneath you. Your father would never allow it, and you would regret the alliance all of your days! Do you truly wish to live out your life in a bark hut, with no servants to attend and nothing of value to your name?”

Lothiriel swallowed hard at this assessment. Eomer had _seemed_ most sincere, and she could not think he would ever allow her to go wanting on his account. Still, she _was_ very young and had not had much association with men other than her brothers. Perhaps he did deceive her; perhaps her aunt was right to counsel her against him. Even so, tears filled her eyes as she capitulated. “As you say, Aunt.”

“Good!” Ivriniel exclaimed, pleased at her victory. “You will decline his offer, and make it clear to him that you are not to be trifled with further. I understand they will be leaving the day after tomorrow to return to Rohan. It should not be difficult for you to largely avoid him until he is gone.”

xxx

“I…I do not understand. Lothiriel –” Eomer was saying when a commanding voice rang out behind him.

“Lothiriel! Come inside, child. I am sure the _gentleman_ will excuse you,” Ivriniel imperiously instructed.

Eomer wheeled on his heel, and Lothiriel slipped reluctantly past him to obey. “Wait! Lothiriel –”

“My niece is off limits to you, young man. She is too young and impressionable, and we do not appreciate your preying upon her,” Ivriniel announced.

For a moment, Eomer was going to argue, but Lothiriel would not meet his eyes, seeming to agree with her aunt’s edict. Anger swelled in him and he gave a curt nod of his head, turning quickly away and charging from their presence.

“See, that was not so difficult,” Ivriniel commented, benignly watching the young man depart. “Come inside, Lothiriel.”

“Yes, Aunt,” she dutifully responded, fighting back the tears threatening to break forth. _How had this wondrous visit to Minas Tirith turned so utterly miserable?_

**Chapter 1 (July, 3019 III, Minas Tirith)**

“So, Erglass, what news of Minas Tirith?” Ivriniel inquired of her servant, while pulling off her gloves. Behind her, Lothiriel was unfastening her travel cloak. The pair had just arrived on the boat from Dol Amroth, answering a summons from Imrahil to join him in the White City.

“Oh! So much to tell you, m’lady! When we returned to the City after the fighting was over, it was quite in ruins, though they’ve done many repairs since then. The menfolk say it was quite a glorious sight when the Rohirrim rode into view on the horizon to help defend us! And, after, during all the celebrations once the Dark Lord was defeated, all those light-haired men made quite a splendid sight to a woman’s eye!” The portly, older woman blushed at her girlish remarks, but then pressed on with her commentary, unaware of Lothiriel’s increased attention at the mention of Rohan.

“Anyway, there was parties and feasting all over, not to mention when the new king was crowned! And then when his bride came – an Elf! Can you imagine! She’s the most gorgeous creature that ever lived, I’ll wager! It was such a shame you had to miss the wedding on account of your illness, m’lady. You’re all better now?”

“Yes, dear, I am. Thank you for inquiring. But do go on – what is happening now that would cause my brother to send for us? Surely we have already missed all the excitement,” Ivriniel remarked, smoothing her clothes after handing her cloak to another servant hovering nearby, and leading the way toward the library for refreshments. Lothiriel followed silently in her wake, also eager for news.

“Well, likely Prince Imrahil would have you here on account of King Theoden – Rohan’s king. He was killed in the War, out on the Pelennor, and has lain here in the Hallows until now. They are coming to take him back to Rohan for burial, is what I hear.”

Before she could continue, Lothiriel involuntarily spoke, murmuring, “Then Theodred is now king.”

Both the other women turned to look at her, but she was gazing at the floor and did not notice. “Oh no, miss! Seems this Theodred, the king’s son, was killed during the War also, though I do not know the particulars of it – he didn’t fight here – and so now the king’s nephew rules. His name is…Eomer, I think it was. Fine looking man he is – so very tall and handsome. The ladies were all vying for his attention until he returned home. Unless he’s found a wife, I’m sure it will be the same this time, too!”

Imperceptibly, Lothiriel inhaled and her eyes widened. _Eomer was king now?_ She moved hastily to the window as she fought for control of her emotions and her countenance. There, she closed her eyes in pain at the irony of it all – she had rejected him as _unworthy_ of her hand because of his lowly station! He would never think of her fondly now, she was sure, but she also suspected her aunt would be anticipating making a match of them. Ivriniel did not concern herself overly much with such details. The two were of equal rank; indeed, quite possibly they were each of the highest rank imaginable among the unmarried nobility – Ivriniel would think it right and proper that they be joined, regardless of either one’s feelings in the matter. How very humiliating it was going to be to face him now!

The room seemed to be closing in on her, and she knew she had to escape. “If you will excuse me, Aunt. I believe I will rest a while before supper. I want to be fresh for this evening,” Lothiriel said, hoping the woman would not press her with questions.

“Of course, my dear. That is an excellent idea. Yes, we certainly want you looking your best…” Ivriniel’s voice had that speculative note that always set Lothiriel on edge. She could well guess the reason for it this time. 

Safely in her room, Lothiriel sat in a chair and stared unseeingly ahead of her. Eomer was returning, as king of Rohan. In some ways, the events of three years past seemed an eternity ago. She did not believe a day had gone by during which she had not thought of Eomer, and regretted giving him up. For all that their time together had been brief, she was convinced their love had been true. The momentary confusion Ivriniel had caused led to Lothiriel doing as instructed and rejecting him, but the look on his face when she spoke the words! Her aunt had completely misjudged the situation, and she had broken his heart most cruelly. And she had never recovered from that knowledge or her own feelings. Young men had been interested in her since then, usually spurred by Ivriniel’s efforts to encourage her toward a possible future marriage companion, but she had wanted none but the one man who was totally lost to her.

A man who was now coming to Minas Tirith, against all probability, and she could not avoid encountering him. Oh, how she wished she was back in Dol Amroth, and did not have to face the next few days.

xxx

As it turned out, the next few days were the least of her concerns. The Rohirrim had not yet arrived at the city, and Lothiriel spent a pleasant three days being reunited with her family, whom she had missed terribly these past months. She had not seen her father or youngest brothers since March, only Elphir returning home after the War to deal with matters of that kingdom in his father’s absence. Despite the joy of seeing her family once more, Lothiriel could not help being nervous about Eomer’s pending arrival. She had gone over every possible scenario she could imagine for their initial meeting, but always she envisioned herself as looking quite foolish and garnering nothing but his disdain. 

Rightly so, she believed. She had hurt him so very much with her rejection. Over the past three years she’d had ample time to ponder on the matter, and always her heart reached the same conclusion – that she loved him still. She knew all the arguments her aunt had repeated periodically during that time – that she was too young to know her own mind, that they barely knew one another, that it was merely infatuation that she felt, that Eomer was much too old for her – but none of them did anything to persuade her that her feelings had not been genuine, and no matter Ivriniel’s claims otherwise, she felt certain Eomer had been equally sincere. Not that it made any difference now. How he must despise her. He had never been the sort of man to care about position, and she doubted very much he would now consider her merely because of her title and disregarding their history.

The day of the Rohirrim’s expected arrival, Lothiriel was on pins and needles from the moment she awakened. She had walked through the town, even down to the first level, and strolled the gardens of the city, but nothing distracted her for long or soothed her raw nerves. Even though anticipated, the sound of horns, announcing the party had reached the city’s entrance, made her jump and her breathing quickened. _This would never do_ , she thought, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks. How could she see him in this agitated state. With an effort, she willed herself to calm down and draw even breaths. She could not change the past, but she would give him no reason to reproach her now. Her behavior would be impeccable; besides, Ivriniel would be there also, and no doubt watching attentively.

Despite the tenuous control she achieved, Lothiriel was not at all certain she could maintain it once they were face to face, but there was nothing to be done for it. She must attend this feast, but with a bit of luck they might be seated far enough apart so as not to need to converse more than a few words.

As Lothiriel reached the doors to the feasting hall, she encountered the swarm of nobility that had been invited. How had she never noticed how exquisitely beautiful the ladies of Minas Tirith were? Ivriniel had long dictated her appearance. The woman favored dark, dull colors for dresses, that were more suitable to someone her own age than for a young woman such as her niece. Additionally, she saw to it that Lothiriel kept her hair pinned neatly into a matronly bun at the nape of her neck, as she deemed any proper noblewoman should wear it.

For all her position, Lothiriel felt like the poor relation in cheap, dowdy clothes when standing beside the other ladies. Their eyes seemed brighter, their clothing richer, their manners more refined. Surely her estimation of their adornment must be her imagination, for the White City had suffered some deprivation just as Dol Amroth had, but as to the rest, she felt far inferior in the eye of any beholder, and Eomer’s would be a dispassionate, unforgiving gaze.

The crowd made way for Lothiriel as her father came to escort her to the assigned seat. “You look lovely this evening, dearest!” Impulsively, he leaned and pressed a kiss to her forehead, engendering a blush.

“Thank you, Father.” She fell silent as he smiled again, and steered their course forward. She fixed her eyes ahead, refusing to let them dart nervously about the room, seeking a glimpse of Eomer. She had little doubt she would locate him all too soon.

They reached the head table, though she was apparently to be seated with her brothers at the next table down. There were too many higher ranking dignitaries in attendance here, between Gondor, Rohan and the Elves, for everyone to fit at the single lead table. After greeting the King and Queen, Imrahil saw his daughter ensconced next to her brother, Amrothos. Lothiriel was pleased that Eomer had not yet arrived, and so she had not had to greet him in front of everyone. Still, sooner or later they would meet. Amrothos was speaking to her, and she drew her attention from her thoughts to what he was saying, trying to set aside her trepidation as she did so.

Several moments later, a murmur went through the hall, and Lothiriel looked up to see the cause of it. Everyone’s attention was focused on the entrance, and even before she looked in that direction, she knew _he_ was there. It was as though she could tangibly feel his presence in the room. Slowly she turned to gaze at the newcomers, and her breath caught in her throat. He was even more impossibly handsome than she recalled. In three years time, he appeared to have filled out more and grown even taller, or possibly it was merely his self-confident demeanor that made him seem larger and more impressive. A sense that she did not truly know him swept over her and, in a way, she knew that was so, for they had been little acquainted, but in the next moment there was an overwhelming sense of familiarity about him. She had been so very young, and he had been dutifully polite and proper, but still she remembered the thrill that went through her each time he had taken her hand or touched her arm. That same feeling shot through her now as, inexplicably, his eyes lifted and fell directly upon her.

She had expected awkwardness, and even disinterest, but she was not quite prepared for the coldness in his eyes. Unable to hold his gaze, she dropped her eyes. Beside her, Amrothos had chosen to give her a running commentary of their acquaintance with King Eomer, and was detailing how he and their father had become close friends. Underscoring his words, her father was hastening toward the king to greet him, and moments later, the two stood before her. She and Amrothos rose in unison to acknowledge him.

“Eomer, you know Amrothos, of course, but I am pleased to acquaint you with my daughter, Lothiriel,” Imrahil enthusiastically introduced. 

On cue, Lothiriel gave an appropriate curtsy, but as she rose from it, Eomer said tonelessly, “We have met before.”

Imrahil’s eyebrow quirked upward, and he remarked, “Indeed? I was not aware of that. When did such take place?”

Eomer’s scowl had deepened, so Lothiriel hesitantly explained, “It…it was several years ago, Father, when I was visiting Minas Tirith with Aunt Ivriniel. King Eomer was here with his cousin, Prince Theodred.” Her hand fisted in the folds of her skirt, out of sight of onlookers. This was proving as difficult as she had anticipated.

“I see,” Imrahil commented, but Eomer had already turned his attention to the man’s sons, and was greeting them warmly. Again Imrahil’s brow rose. He would never have expected Eomer to behave so, indeed his behavior toward Lothiriel was almost rude. After a moment, Imrahil set aside his concern over it; likely Eomer was exhausted from his travel, and distressed by the reason for it. He would be more the man Imrahil knew and liked once this was all in the past. He followed the young king along the line as he greeted others, and they slowly made their way to join Gondor’s king and queen.

Once he was past, Lothiriel sat as quickly as was appropriate. A glance up gave her a glimpse of her aunt, smiling approvingly at her conduct, and apparently totally unware of the turmoil raging inside her niece. Giving a small sigh, Lothiriel sipped at the wine that the servants were beginning to pour and let the talk nearby draw her in.

Despite everything, however, Lothiriel could not keep from sneaking glances at Eomer. Doing so afforded her nothing, though, as he never seemed to look in her direction or take any further notice of her. Just as Erglass had indicated, Eomer had the full interest of every unattached woman in the room, and Lothiriel caught even a few of the married ones eyeing him. When the meal ended and the guests stood around talking and mingling, Eomer was soon surrounded by eager women, anxious to catch his notice. That alone was irksome to Lothiriel, who felt she must keep her distance, but the worst part of it was how pleased he seemed to be to accommodate them. It was quite evident he had well and truly forgotten his professions of love to her, and he most certainly had not been pining over her loss. It put a bitter taste in her mouth, even as she admitted she full well deserved to be treated thus.

To her chagrin, her brother Erchirion seemed intent on bringing the two of them together, and despite her protests, he caught her elbow and propelled her toward the golden-haired king. Likely no one but Lothiriel noticed him stiffen when he caught a glimpse of her approaching. He politely turned to acknowledge them, though he kept his eyes on Erchirion, barely glancing at her. Feeling awkward standing there in silence, she ventured conversation by telling him, “I was very sorry to learn of your uncle’s death, and Theodred’s as well. You have my condolences.”

The words brought a resounding silence from all gathered, and Lothiriel paled, realizing that perhaps that had not been the best topic at just this moment. Eomer’s jaw had tightened, but he quietly answered, “Thank you. That is very _kind_ of you.” He paused an instant, then glanced around at the group attending him and announced, “If you will all excuse me. It has been a very long day and I must arise early. I believe I will call it a night.” He sketched a bow at the collective gathering, and they responded in kind, though clearly the ladies were loath for him to depart.

Sadly, Lothiriel watched him stride over to farewell the royals of Gondor and her father before exiting. It had perhaps been foolish of her, but she had hoped that they might at least be friendly toward one another. She had dared hope he might have forgiven her for the folly of her youth, but clearly forgiveness was not forefront in his mind where she was concerned.

Erchirion made no comment, though he watched her curiously from the corner of his eye. Neither she nor Eomer had mentioned their previous acquaintance, but he could discern nothing in their behavior to suggest it had been a cordial association. He bit back a grin; Aunt Ivriniel had her work cut out for her if she hoped to marry his sister off to Rohan’s king, as he had little doubt she intended.

_to be continued_

Erglass – “lone joy”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivriniel: Sister of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Ivriniel was born in 2947 (69 in 3016). She was the eldest child of Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth. She had a younger sister Finduilas - wife of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor - and a younger brother Imrahil. 
> 
> Theodred born 2978 (38 in 3016); died 25 Feb 3019  
> Eomer born 2991; 25 in 3016  
> Lothiriel born 2999; 17 in 3016  
> Theoden began to fall under influence of Grima in 3014
> 
> 3019   
> February 25: Theoden's son Theodred is killed by Saruman's forces at the First Battle of the Fords of Isen.   
> February 27: Theoden learns of Theodred's death. Erkenbrand sends a request for reinforcements but Grima advises against it and Theoden follows his advice. Eomer leads his eored in pursuit of the Orcs against King Theoden's orders.; Eomer meets Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli and decides to aid them. On his return to Edoras, Eomer is arrested. 
> 
> March 2: Theoden is freed from Grima's influence by Gandalf and decides to ride to war against Saruman.
> 
> August 7: The funeral escort arrives in Edoras.   
> August 10: Funeral of King Theoden. Eomer announces the betrothal of Eowyn to Faramir of Gondor.  
> August 14: The Fellowship leaves Edoras.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Lothiriel dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief. She had not fully understood what her father had in mind by summoning Lothiriel and her aunt to Minas Tirith, but it turned out he wished them to accompany him on the trip to Edoras for the funeral. She had thought perhaps her aunt would decline, as she could tell the woman was not eager to make the rigorous journey, but Lothiriel underestimated her aunt’s desire to secure a match between Lothiriel and Rohan’s king. The woman apparently would do whatever it took to bring it about, even if it meant traveling with few amenities to a backward country for a funeral of someone she did not know or care about. She could have sent Lothiriel alone; after all, her father and brothers would be along to supervise the girl, but they were men and unsuited to the intricacies of courtship. Only she was properly skilled to bring the couple together, and fend off all those other would-be queens lurking about the man. Her niece was the only one proper to make such a match, and she would see it done before she departed this earth. Only then could she consider her duty to the girl to be adequately discharged.

Thus far, the travel had been hot, dirty and tedious, and Lothiriel had little to do but ride in the carriage with her aunt, and listen to longwinded dissertations on how to secure a husband. There was no doubt in her mind who specifically Ivriniel expected her to ‘secure’, though no name had been mentioned. Ivriniel’s eyes watched Eomer whenever he was near, like a predator stalking its prey. Lothiriel’s insides squirmed uncomfortably every time she witnessed it, but knew that any protests on her part would fall on deaf ears.

As for Lothiriel, Eomer continued to ignore her as though she did not exist, managing a polite nod or comment only when it was unavoidable. Lothiriel had noticed her father and others eyeing him in surprise at his behavior toward her, but she was not aware that anyone had spoken to him about it. She very much hoped no one would; she did not like to think what he might say if pressed.

Still he could not entirely shun her. As Imrahil’s daughter, he could not totally snub her without doing the same to the rest of her family, which he clearly did not wish to do. Indeed, the men of her family got on exceedingly well with him, and he appeared to greatly enjoy their company. That realization only added to her considerable feelings of guilt.

For all her youth and inexperience, she had loved him. He was like no one she had ever known before, and she had wanted nothing more than to be with him always. True, she had not fully considered the implications of marrying a mere soldier rather than a nobleman, but Eomer had been a good man then, and he was an even better one now, from all she could see and had heard. Whatever she would have had to give up on his account, she felt sure would be insignificant to the joy of being his wife. But Aunt Ivriniel had guided most of her life since her mother died when she was ten years of age, and it had seemed impossible to go against her or argue with her judgement. Only now that she had matured more was she persuaded that she should have been happier had she chosen a different course back then.

Life as Imrahil’s daughter was both a blessing and a curse. It held material advantages, of course, and she had little with which she needed to concern herself. All that was truly expected of her was to make a good match in marriage, and then provide her husband with an heir. Aside from that, her life would primarily be one of leisure and comfort. The men handled the details and difficulties of life, not their wives. Yet, she could not help thinking there must be more than that. She had seen the new queen of Gondor, and envied her. Queen Arwen was not the shy, retiring type as so many of the noble women were. She did not merely accept that her place was in a sitting room, mildly doing stitch work and gossiping with ladies of the court. The king had her beside him on numerous occasions, and sought her opinion on a variety of matters. Despite the rather shocked looks of staid Gondorians, Lothiriel had thought their relationship quite remarkable – and enviable.

Then, too, there was the White Lady of Rohan. Eomer’s sister, Eowyn, had ridden to battle, disguised as a man, doing her part to defeat evil. Though many looked askance at such behavior, still they hailed her a heroine, and Lothiriel’s cousin, Faramir, did not seem to find her lacking in womanly charm for it. How Lothiriel longed to be more than just an ornament on some man’s arm. She could almost believe such a thing might be possible in Rohan, but she would never find it in Gondor, she was sure.

“Lothiriel?” Her aunt’s voice imperiously broke through her reverie, and she realized she had been inattentive to the conversation.

“I am sorry, Aunt. Did you say something? My mind must have wandered,” she apologized.

Ivriniel frowned at this perceived disrespect, but set the matter aside to address more pressing issues. “We will be stopping for dinner soon. Freshen your appearance. We cannot have you looking like a wilted rose before King Eomer. There is nothing appealing in that.”

How she was supposed to “freshen” in this withering heat, she was not certain, but Lothiriel kept silent. An argument would serve no purpose. Pulling out a fresh handkerchief, she dabbed again at her sweat streaked face and neck, and then patted down her hair. It was so tightly bound that it was unlikely to be in disarray. Ivriniel’s appraising eye seemed to have reached the same conclusion, for she did not press her regarding it. Just as her aunt had anticipated, the cortege came to a halt a short time later, and Lothiriel waited for her aunt to exit the carriage first. Instead, the older woman leaned back against the cushions with a sigh, fanning at herself. 

“I believe I will eat in the carriage rather than get out in this sun, my dear. I will have a servant escort you to your father. He should be fairly near to King Eomer, and you will have the opportunity to speak with the man and let him come to know you better. Remember – your best manners at all times!” Ivriniel instructed, her eyes closed during the discourse, and thus missing the wry amusement on Lothiriel’s face.

A servant was opening the carriage door then, and Ivriniel turned her attention to giving him instructions regarding Lothiriel and her own dinner. When she finished, the man offered Lothiriel a hand down from the carriage and gestured in the direction of where he had last seen her father. They had only gone a short distance, when Lothiriel came to a halt and turned to face him. “I know my aunt expects you to hand me over to my father, but that is not necessary. I will be perfectly safe in our camp, and I wish to walk about and stretch my legs while we are stopped. Stay out of my aunt’s sight for a short time and then take her her dinner. She will assume you have filled your charge, and if she spots me unattended, I will say Father left me briefly.” 

The servant hesitated, but then gave a nod and short bow. “As you wish, m’lady.”

Lothiriel was rather surprised at how easy it had been to gain her freedom, if only temporarily. Glancing around the area, she saw that the trees provided some shade along the bank of a creek, so she turned in that direction, thinking to dampen her handkerchief and gain a little added relief. Apparently others had the same idea, for there were several men and women there, in addition to men farther downstream watering the horses. She greeted a few women that she recognized, before moving to dip her handkerchief in the water. Straightening, she dabbed at her face and neck, grateful for the coolness the water provided. Rohan had proven to be a rather windy country, but considering this extreme heat, it did little more than give some slight reprieve from the misery. 

Idly wandering along the bank, she found herself alone in a small brushy area, somewhat cut off from everyone else. She knew they were only a short distance away, but this brief isolation was refreshing after the close quarters of an encampment. As she stood there, admiring the view of the creek before her, voices drifted to her from somewhere to her right. Obviously others had also wandered away from the group for a few moments.

Her pulse quickened as she recognized Eomer’s distinctive voice. Even when talking quietly, his voice carried, though at first she could not make out the words. Then another voice, a female voice, responded to the king. “I understand you were acquainted with Lady Lothiriel from before, my lord.” Lothiriel’s jaw tightened, both at the words and a recognition of who was speaking. Linsul was the daughter of a respected nobleman of Minas Tirith, and quite beautiful. It was hardly surprising she had set her sights on Eomer, or that he might be attracted to her. She was everything a man could want, everything that Lothiriel was not.

“Yes,” Eomer answered reluctantly, clearly not wishing to discuss Lothiriel. “We met at Minas Tirith a few years ago when I was here with my cousin. She is a pleasant enough girl, though I find her so altered I would hardly have recognized her. Her looks are quite severe now.”

“Oh, I know,” Linsul agreed. “I believe her Aunt Ivriniel guides her in her dress, but it is not the most appealing, nor is the way she wears her hair. But do not think too ill of her for it; she truly is a delightful person.”

Lothiriel swallowed hard at their assessment of her appearance, though she could hardly argue their point. She had thought much the same thing when she gazed upon herself in a mirror. What Aunt Ivriniel deemed proper was not particularly attractive, and she had longed to wear some of the brighter, prettier gowns she had seen on others. However, Ivriniel had made it clear that such frivolity was fine for those not of such a noble family, but they had an obligation to set a higher standard.

To Lothiriel’s mortification, Linsul continued, “I do wish she had accepted my brother’s suit for her hand. I feel certain he would have had her dressing in a more pleasant manner once she was away from her aunt. But, alas, Ivriniel always gets her way, and I am sure she is behind Lothiriel’s refusal of Arastel. I do not think Lady Ivriniel considered him of adequate prominence in society to wed the daughter of Dol Amroth’s prince!” 

“When did this take place?” Eomer asked mildly, seeming to feel the need to give polite attention to the conversation, though surely he must loathe being made to discuss anything regarding Lothiriel.

“Oh, just a little over a year ago, I think. Poor Lothiriel! I fear she will end an unwed maid, or at least unhappily matched, if Lady Ivriniel has her say,” Linsul breezily answered.

Lothiriel quickly moved away before she overheard any more of the couple’s discussion, thinking it best she return to the campsite. She should probably eat, though what she had heard and the heat combined to give her little appetite. Why must her life be so very different from everyone else’s? Her brothers were not made to adhere to Ivriniel’s idea of appropriate dress or deportment. And she did not see that anyone truly looked askance at Queen Arwen or the Lady Eowyn; they were perhaps shocked a bit, but all they did was eventually accepted. Could not she do likewise and be equally acceptable? It was not that she thought doing so might endear her to Eomer – she had quite given up hope on that – but she did not like the life she was living. Could she not at least find some personal happiness and contentment while doing the things she must do? She dabbed at her face and neck, pretending to cool herself, but actually to disguise a tear that had slipped out at her bleak outlook.

Amrothos was approaching, and Lothiriel quickly took on a cheery countenance, not wishing him to see her distress. “Come, Thiri. I will get you something to eat, and you can tell me all the things Aunt Ivriniel is discoursing on!” he snickered.

She could not restrain a laugh. Dear Amrothos! He always made her smile. She was sure spending an hour or so in his company would improve her mood immensely. Moments later, they were seated on one of the benches set out under the trees, eating while Amrothos entertained his sister with ridiculous tales. In the middle of a story, he glanced up, calling out, “Eomer! Join us!” He gestured to free space on the bench next to theirs.

Lothiriel stiffened, stealing a quick glance toward Rohan’s king. Linsul was clinging to his arm, clearly delighted to be the recipient of his attention, but she was a social creature and enjoyed any gathering of people. “Oh, yes, my lord! Let us join them!” she enthused, and Eomer gave a consenting nod. 

Withdrawing his arm from her hold he motioned to the bench. “Have a seat. I will bring our food.”

Linsul plunked down next to Amrothos, leaving a space beyond her and farthest from Lothiriel for Eomer. Amrothos’ attention was now diverted to conversing with Linsul, and Lothiriel resumed her meal in silence. It seemed to ever be thus; when any other woman was in a room, she was overlooked as inconsequential. Though she could not fault her brother – she was only his sister, after all – he was not alone in this tendency. Good old Lothiriel! She makes a very nice fixture on the wall! Take no notice of her other than to make casual mention of her existence! It was too much, and she could not sit here pretending all was well.

Rising abruptly, she said, “If you will excuse me, I believe I will walk more before we resume our travel.” 

There was a brief acknowledgement of her departure, but then their conversation quickly continued. Lothiriel was glad to escape before Eomer returned and she had to endure his presence. She did not notice Eomer’s gaze upon her as she hurried toward the creek bank once more, seeking solitude.

Whatever his thoughts, Eomer did not comment on Lothiriel’s absence when he joined the others, though his gaze flicked toward the creek several times. A half hour later, the company was preparing to proceed on their journey, and Eomer saw Linsul settled back in her carriage. He had not glimpsed Lothiriel returning to her own carriage, and wandered that way. Ivriniel noticed him from the window and called out to him, “My lord Eomer! You are looking well.”

Her address gave him an excuse to move closer and verify that she was alone. “Thank you, Lady Ivriniel. You are managing the travel without too much difficulty?” he asked politely.

“It is not easy, but I will manage,” she assured him. Then, changing direction, she asked, “Have you seen my niece, Lothiriel, by any chance? She has not returned yet, and I grow concerned.”

“I have not seen her for a while, my lady, but I will ask someone to fetch her to you,” he said, stepping away. The woman clearly sought to ingratiate herself to him, but still she wore on his nerves. She behaved as though the past had never happened, as if she had not orchestrated keeping him from Lothiriel all those years ago. Now that he was sufficiently important, she wished to alter her course and thought he should just go along with it. She would not find _him_ so malleable as her niece!

He moved quickly away from the carriage, before his temper made him speak out of turn and tell the woman his opinion of her. Despite his irritation, however, he could not help be somewhat concerned about where Lothiriel had gone. He had not seen her return from the creek. He could send a servant, but that was inefficient; best to just go have a look himself and be done with it.

It took several moments of searching before he finally located her. She had settled on the bank, leaning against a tree, where she had fallen asleep. As he stood across the clearing gazing upon her, her features softened by sleep despite her severe hairstyle and clothing, the longing he had felt three years before resurfaced with a vengeance. How could she cause that reaction in him so easily? He tried to despise her, despise her weakness and giving in to her aunt’s counsel, but at this moment it seemed impossible to do. She was so young then, and perhaps it was not entirely her fault that she felt she had to obey. 

While he stood there musing, Lothiriel stirred, stretching and giving a yawn that she demurely hid behind her hand. Not wanting her to catch him spying on her, he called out, “Lothiriel!”

She jumped slightly, and hastily scrambled to her feet as he moved closer. “Your…aunt is looking for you. The company is preparing to depart.” Even in his own ears his words sounded cold and stiff, but he could not bring himself to act differently.

“Oh! I am sorry! I did not mean to delay you. I sat down for just a moment and must have drifted off. My sincere apologies, my lord!” she exclaimed.

He cleared his throat gruffly, then answered, “No harm done. We are not delayed, but you should return to your carriage.” He gestured back toward the encampment, and she moved forward, noticing he did not offer his arm to her. He walked slightly behind her the entire way, as though herding a wayward cow back to the barn, and she could not restrain a blush of embarrassment.

Once they reached her carriage, he gave a curt bow and moved away without comment, and she watched him leave with sorrowful eyes until her aunt called out to her, and summoned her inside. For the duration of the afternoon, she was made to listen to chastisement for not doing more to engage the king during the dinner hour, and further plotting by her aunt as to what course they should take upon reaching Edoras. Lothiriel leaned her head against a cushion and let her thoughts wander, knowing full well that her aunt seldom required a response when giving such dissertations. 

To her surprise, the cortege ended their travel earlier than usual. Normally they pressed on until nearly sunset, leaving only enough time to get the tents up before darkness fell upon them. Not until supper with her father and brothers did she discover the reason for it. Eomer had determined that the ladies were being excessively tired by the heat and travel, and had decreed a shorter day to give them additional rest. While Ivriniel waxed eloquent about the king’s thoughtfulness, Lothiriel privately wondered at it. Surely it could not have to do with Eomer’s finding her asleep on the creek bank. Rather, it must be due to a complaint by Linsul that had caught his notice, but still she found the timing of it curiously coincidental.

Whatever or whoever the reason for the decision, Lothiriel was grateful, but not nearly so grateful as when Edoras appeared in the distance. She would be very glad to exit this carriage, and not revisit it for a good long while. She had hoped to get to do some riding along the way, and better see the sights, but there were no horses to spare and no sidesaddle for her use. And Aunt Ivriniel made it clear that riding out in the hot sun was not to be done. Wind and sun would ravage her skin most abominably.

Lothiriel had little experience with any place other than Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith. She was not sure what she had expected to find at Edoras and the mead hall of Meduseld, but certainly it was not the reality before her at present. It was far more rugged and rough than what she was used to in Gondor, but yet she found a certain warmth and appeal to it. It was soon evident, however, that Aunt Ivriniel did not share that opinion. She barely concealed her scowl of disapproval, and soon after their arrival she retired to her room with a sick headache. As Lothiriel had been housed with her aunt for the duration, space being at a premium with all the funeral guests, she determined to spend as little time as possible in the room if her aunt was in residence.

They had arrived in the late morning, so after the midday meal Lothiriel ventured into the town to look around. She was quite sure her aunt would be mortified, but she had seen nothing here to give her alarm. Granted, Minas Tirith could be rather dangerous for a woman unattended, but she had the feeling that was not the case in Edoras.

It made her self-conscious that so many stopped and stared at her, though she thought it was likely more a case of curiosity than anything else. Perhaps it was that she was alone, since she was not the only visitor perusing the town. She had not explored more than one shop before she encountered a familiar face. “Lady Eowyn,” she acknowledged with a curtsy.

Eowyn eyed her with surprise; she had been told that the girl was rarely seen without her aunt hovering nearby. “Lady Lothiriel,” she answered. “Come to do a little shopping, or are you merely looking around?” she asked politely.

Lothiriel smiled, wanting to like this woman who was to wed her cousin, but feeling more than a little intimidated by her. “I am mostly just looking, though I would not be averse to making a purchase,” she offered, and Eowyn reluctantly grinned.

“What interests you?” she asked, glancing around the store where they stood. Pickings were slim in Rohan after the War, and it would take time for business to thrive or offer much, particularly to fastidious Gondorians.

Lothiriel was longingly eyeing some gowns hanging nearby. There was nothing overly extraordinary about them; indeed, they were rather plain in design and not at all up to her usual standard of quality, but they were cheery and looked comfortable. How she wished she dared purchase one, much less dare to wear it! Aunt Ivriniel would have the vapors if she saw her in such a thing.

Eowyn’s eyes followed her gaze to discern what had her attention, and could guess the girl’s thoughts. Surely she could not _like_ the dresses she routinely wore. They were hideous, and Eowyn suspected it was her aunt’s influence rather than Lothiriel’s preference that included them in her wardrobe.

Reaching for a pale green gown, Eowyn held it up to Lothiriel with a critical eye. At length, she announced, “This would look wonderful on you! It goes so well with your lovely dark hair. Shall you not buy it?”

There was almost something of a challenge in Eowyn’s voice, and Lothiriel’s breath hitched at the prospect of something so rebellious. Dare she? While she was doing mental battle with herself on the matter, Eowyn decided to sway the outcome. “The clothing you are wearing is much too dark and heavy for summer in Edoras. You would be far better served attired in something like this while you are visiting us.”

Eowyn concealed her grin as she saw the wheels of hope turning in the girl’s head; she was rather enjoying encouraging Lothiriel to kick over Ivriniel’s traces!

“Well, perhaps…” Lothiriel said hesitantly, still not quite ready to yield.

With a twinkle in her eyes, Eowyn determined to secure the matter completely. “I wish to make it a gift to you, Lothiriel. Please, you would not refuse to accept such, would you?” 

“Oh! I could not…you should not…” she began, but Eowyn cut her off with a raised hand.

“Nonsense! Why should I not? We will be relations soon enough. Please, allow me to do this,” Eowyn wheedled, and could see the capitulation in the younger woman’s eyes before she voiced it.

“Well, if you are certain that you wish to –”

“I am certain! Go – try it on. There is a room back there. Let us see how you look in it. I do not think it will require much adjustment to fit you,” Eowyn instructed, not giving Lothiriel an opportunity to rethink her decision.

As it turned out, other than hemming, the dress was virtually ready for Lothiriel to wear. The shop owner’s wife assured her she would make the alteration, and see the dress delivered by the next day. As Eowyn accompanied Lothiriel back out into the street, Lothiriel could hardly believe her temerity. Aunt Ivriniel would have a fit when she saw the dress, and likely insist she not be seen in it, but Lothiriel’s jaw tightened. She _would_ wear this dress. Besides, it was a gift and it would be rude to Eowyn not to wear it publicly. No, unless her father had some objection also, she _would_ wear it.

_to be continued_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linsul – “wind song”  
> Arastel – “deer foot”


End file.
